You know when you’re trying to get to the office before everyone else and decide, hey, why not, let’s take the M train even though you usually take the G train and there you are stranded at 5th and 52nd waiting for the train at a completely empty station except for one eccentric nomad on the bench right next to you, the one’s that’s been living there for a week now and is trying to converse with you spiritually? And then you see this amazing, disgusting, rotting wall of compressed black dust that peels away to reveal the most amazing shade of azure, and you try so hard to capture it on your phone that the nomad calls you “a tourist”?
Yeah. It’s kind of like that. That’s an amazing shade right there, but you can’t quite see it. The lens can’t read it. Just look at that thick darkness, watch the color rip and bleed through it, a rude blue undertone. It’s like a ripped up, remixed Rothko.